I Left My Home To Follow Lucinda (945 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: one-part_stories red_right_hand
Rating: 1.62 on 54 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Stagger Lee (View user info) at 2007-02-12 11:21:27 EST
It was three months ago when Lucinda first blew into town. She had an entourage, even then; the hangers-on, the toadies, the gawkers. She always had crowd, wherever she went. She complained that she could never be alone since starting her trek.
Looking back, I was never entirely sure what her mission was. It was never clear. Whenever questioned directly, she reacted with vague, reassuring words. It was impossible for me to realise I was being given the run-around, so complete was her charm. Most of it was unconscious, I'm sure. She sometimes didn't understand the effect she had on people; she just went with it.
I saw her, that first day, from my second-floor window, overlooking the dusty main street. Actually, what I saw first was her ever-present procession, a winding rag-tag column of misfits and malcontents, and those just along for the ride. The leader was self-appointed; a tall, slender man in a long coat and battered top hat. I learnt later that he never spoke, and he somehow always knew where Lucinda was heading. Just behind the "leader" came a small knot of five or six people, who always seemed to be whispering amongst themselves. These people wore a hotchpotch of clothing; tattered and patched, colours washed out and bleached by sun and rain.
Behind the whisperers, there she was. Lucinda. She was not an imposing figure, but she drew the eye nonetheless. Her hair was black, deep black, that shone impossibly in the faintest of light. Her skin was smooth and white, her curves as smooth and pale as a weather-beaten oyster. Her eyes were nearly as dark as her hair, and I have seen men do horrible things for one chaste kiss from those lips.
And following her came the rest of the procession, a dark sea of ragged people, stark and black against the dirt; but it was hard to concentrate for long. I couldn't pull my eyes away from Lucinda for long. She looked up at my window, straight at me, as if she was looking for me, and I could see her eyes, even at this distance. Her eyes were fixed on mine; and that was all there was to it. I walked downstairs and into the street, and I never went back.
I told her I'd do anything for her, and, unlike the usual empty meaning that the phrase has, I did. I killed for her, without knowing why. I left a trail of bodies in our wake. This was my function in her world, assassin. But to call myself an assassin is to lend some sense of dignity to what I did; in fact, I was worse than a drunk who'd stab a man over the change from a beer. I killed for nothing more than the hold she had over me.
My subsequent arrest and incarceration were only a matter of time. I didn't cover my tracks, ever. Sometimes I went days without washing the blood off my hands. Lucinda seemed to like this; it was a constant, visual reminder of the lengths I'd go to for her. See didn't understand the hold she had over people, the charm, the allure, but she damn well enjoyed it.
They came for me in the early afternoon, the sun blazing from above a ridge whose name I did not know. They walked into Lucinda's camp, armed with shotguns and handcuffs, sweat pouring from beneath their caps, their eyes wild and darting. They were scared, terrified, their fingers tightening on triggers, eyes looking for an excuse to pull them.
The camp ignored them, without communicating with each other. They were good at not communicating with each other. Lucinda was absent. I didn't resist; I hadn't been told to resist. I had known it was coming. I could feel it miles away, like a storm.
This isn't all I did, but this is what they caught me for. It was night, three days before my arrest. Lucinda came to me, in my tent. It's odd; I can never remember exactly how her voice sounded, or what words she used. Her sentences float out of my memory, like dreams from a deep, drunken sleep. We were camped on the edge of town, and she told me that I had to go into town and pay a man a visit.
I nodded, and left the camp. The night was overcast, lit brightly in the odd manner that occurs when low-hanging clouds reflect the lights from town. The breeze nipped lightly at my face, cutting the humid air. I thought of my backtrail, the litter of kills. At that point, I was incapable of thinking about them objectively, or even from my own point of view. They only way I could view them was as disposed targets, targets that were stuck down righteously at behest of Lucinda.
Now, of course, they haunt me. I can't close my eyes without seeing theirs, open, glassy, dead. Victims of my obsession, not even my obsession with them, but with her. Casualties of selfishness.
I strolled past the first lights and buildings of town. I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and lit up, striking my match and pulling smoke into my lungs under the orange glow. My target was in a bar, some four blocks away from the centre of town. I knew nothing about him, except what he looked like. Lucinda had described him. But then, how did I have such a perfect picture of him floating in my mind? I could see his leathery skin, deep wrinkles, how one eye was slightly higher than the other. The slight hitch in his stride (a war wound? hunting accident? fell down a flight of stairs?), the way he rolled his smokes with one hand while flicking his lighter on and off with the other. I could see his goddamn shoes.
Maybe it's just hindsight.
Maybe all of this is.
I passed by a gaggle of whores on a corner; they leered at me and shook what they had, trying to cover what they didn't. A car slowed on the street, a man leaned out and shouted something at them. I didn't hear what he said, but they reacted badly, some of them searching for rocks on the ground and hurling them after the vehicle. The right taillight shattered, the car sped up.
I left them behind. None of this was my concern. I had only one reason for being there. I ground on, like I always did. I came to the bar, a seedy place with "Love" written above the door in pink neon. There was a man on the door, tall, wide, looking like a wall in a suit. He stared at me all the way down the street. There were a few other people around, but he knew I was looking to come in. They can always tell a punter from the passerby.
He didn't stop me when I went in. I have no doubt that he later described me, however.
And with no further effort (it was always so easy, every time) there he was. My man, my target, my reasonless victim. Exactly as described. As I came in, he was walking from the bar to his seat, near the jukebox. He set his drink on the table, and proceeded to load the juke up with change, sliding each dollar into the slot as though performing holy sacrament. He queued up some shitkicker music and took a long pull on his drink.
The place was full of pillars; I took a spot at the bar where I could just make him out, in between these unnecessary eyesores. At one time in the bar's history, I imagined someone decided that pillars would give the place some class. This was a glaring mistake, as all they did was cut into the light sources and make the bar gloomier. I ordered whiskey and it was served in a filthy glass by and even filthier bartender.
He was alone, nodding his head to his songs, drinking in a constant, dedicated stream. Soon the inevitable occurred, and he rose to go to the bathroom.
I followed. For some reason, I thought of Lucinda's whisperers, that dark half-dozen. Thought of their staring eyes and constantly moving lips. I never wanted to hear their words.
His back was turned to me; he was whistling the song from the juke as he hosed the porcelain. I wasted no more time; I stepped up behind him and seized him by the scruff of the neck. I pulled him backwards, sending him sprawling over my outstretched foot. His head smacked into the tiled floor, and he yelled, but it was a breathless, pointless yell, barely more than a gasp. Piss spattered on his jeans, and his legs thrashed on the hard floor.
I thought of Lucinda, of her face, her eyes, her reasons. My reasons for doing this. I knew in that moment that her hold on me was unshakeable, that I would never be free, and that I would be fucking happy to be enslaved. Hell, I'd be ecstatic.
Then again, maybe I didn't think that. Maybe it's hindsight and tricks of the memory.
One thing I know for sure; I brought my boot down on his neck. The same boot that walked down the street to get here, the boots I'd been wearing when Lucinda came for me in the tent. The same boots I'd been wearing the first time she came for me, surrounded by her tidal parade. The same boots that I'd worn through all the dust and miles and years to arrive here, in a men's room that now reeked of piss, with graffiti on the walls and a man's windpipe under my foot.
I wondered how high I was on her list of men. Then I pressed down, hard, and I crushed the breath from his body, and he fired one last gasp into the air. That was all.
The most important events in my life have all been pointless.
User Reviews
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2007-05-24 06:26:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
My interpretation of it was that the whisperers were the (magical?) power behind her lure, and she was (mostly) just a selfish sociopathic woman warped and used by her own charm.
And I like magic/mysticism (as long as it's not New Age bollocks) in a real world setting.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-02-14 00:19:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Likely not, but it was good for some hits and heat.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-14 00:05:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Xamot for sure. It'll never stick though.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-02-13 23:26:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
feety says he likes the tampax one.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-02-13 23:19:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Or, to GI Joe nerds, it's pronounced like "Tomax" backwards.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-02-13 23:15:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Xamot sounds like damnit or shamone, depending on your pronunciation.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-02-13 23:14:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Appropriate then, wouldn't you say?
Castor sounds like ass lord. At least you got the balls.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-02-13 23:14:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Pollux sounds like bollocks.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-02-13 23:10:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Appropriately twinley names.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-02-13 22:59:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
godlessface names?
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-13 22:51:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-02-13 22:42:51 (#)
Ranking: 2
Xamot or Pollux. The choice is yours.
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que?
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Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-13 21:44:25 (#)
Ranking: 1
you've posted a lot better.
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True. Which is sort of good, I guess.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-02-13 22:42:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Xamot or Pollux. The choice is yours.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-13 21:44:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
you've posted a lot better.
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-02-13 21:23:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Face it. You're the next Zane Gray. Sorry.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-13 21:19:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks lads and lasses.
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-02-13 21:04:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No shit. I hadn't read any of the reviews before rating the first time.
I like your writing.
ps, I'm sober.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-02-13 18:55:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-02-12 14:16:35 (#)
Ranking: 0
It's hard to explain, but I couldn't figure out when or where this took place. At first, it had kind of a Old West gunslinger type of feel, and then it got all modern..
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I agree, I was thinking "Deadwood" (a good thing) as I was reading it and then some parts hurled me into modern day. Oddly, while I feel like that should have bothered me, it didn't.
I felt no connection to the character. I suppose it makes sense that a man so entranced with another person would seem so detached..but he was detached from reality in general, which gave it a bit of a surreal feeling to me.
I disagree with the "sentimental" comments, I don't think it was sentimental at all. At least, not in a romantic sense. The main character may have been obsessed with a woman, but there was no warmth, no affection or love shared between them. It's like she was a devil.
I like that you tried something a little different.
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-02-12 23:00:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I pictured the narrator as a cowboy circa 1880 until the car entered the picture.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-12 21:49:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.ubersite.com/m/98515
It's been pointed out that I should have been linking the contest that this is in. Sorry, my bad.
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-12 21:24:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Subtlety is lost here.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-12 21:04:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
They called me William the Pleaser
I sold opium, fireworks and lead
Now I'm telling my troubles to strangers
When the shadows get long I'll be dead
Her hair was as black as a bucket of tar
Her skin white as a cuttlefish bone
I left Texas to follow Lucinda
Now I'll never see heaven or home
The devil dances inside empty pockets
But she never wanted money or pearls
No that wasn't enough for Lucinda
She wasn't that kind of girl
Now I've fallen from grace for Lucinda
Whoever thought that hell'd be so cold
I did well for an old tin-can sailor
But she wanted the bell in my soul
There are plenty of other verses, but you get the point.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-12 20:18:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-02-12 14:16:35 (#)
Ranking: 0
i'm sorry, i didnt care for this either.
It's hard to explain, but I couldn't figure out when or where this took place. At first, it had kind of a Old West gunslinger type of feel, and then it got all modern, and then I couldn't figure out what was supposed to be going on - there's some chick,
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Fair enough, but that was sort of the point. I tried to gradually make the writing style more modern to indicate a shift in time, and the guy SAYS it's been 3 months, but what does he know? Time is subjective and he admits that his memory is far from perfect.
I thought the other part was obvious, though I hate spelling things like that out unless I have to, cos it sounds lame - it's based on a blues song that involves a man leaving his home to follow a woman who may or may not be the devil (lucinda - lucifer).
Submitted by WonderBread (user info) at 2007-02-12 18:17:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by MyTeeOne (user info) at 2007-02-12 18:07:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked this and wasn't at all bothered by the spacing or anything. I personally thik it gets over used around here.
I agree with Johnny X though... I assumed the woman was some sort of witch or something, which was cool. The car passing ruined it for me though. I liked the old west feel. Still a 2 though because it's some damn fine writing.
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-02-12 14:49:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-02-12 14:16:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
i'm sorry, i didnt care for this either.
It's hard to explain, but I couldn't figure out when or where this took place. At first, it had kind of a Old West gunslinger type of feel, and then it got all modern, and then I couldn't figure out what was supposed to be going on - there's some chick, she's supposed to motivate the protagonist, with her...?????
Not your best work, dude.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2007-02-12 14:01:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
JDL, iddqd - potato, poTAHto. What constitutes acceptable or "good" writing style for one reader can be, and very well SHOULD be, different for another reader.
Without differences of aesthetical preference, none of the art forms would exist as we know it today.
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:52:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
And as someone who's also never taken any sort of classes, I can't usually figure out what's missing from or wrong with a story. I can't really criticize anything here or leave a helpful comment but I did like it.
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:49:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
i missed the point apparently :-|
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:44:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
ive nevar ben to a creative writting classs in my life. """
a spelling class either.
Submitted by iddqd (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:34:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
you got beat. its ok. youre just another.
Submitted by JDL (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:30:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Check again.
Asshat.
Submitted by iddqd (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:28:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
annnnnnnd jdl bails out.
smart move my internet friend.
you have no diea what youre talking about and you threw your hand in when someone raised the stakes. well done
no condescension at all. i dont know what the fuck im talking about either, but being a bullshitter, i can see a bullshitter a mile away.
im glad you gave an opinion, however, in future, give some genuine thought to it, i think youd give the posters on this site something they really need - an honest view from someone who -oddly enough- strangely doesnt give a fuck. its nice not to be alone.
Submitted by JDL (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:23:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Maybe I need to speak your language here iddqd:
ive nevar ben to a creative writting classs in my life.
So why don't you call up one of those art house faggot instructors of yours and go tongue his asshole you hack. Maybe he'll give you half off his next 'Love Poetry for New Lovers' class.
Submitted by iddqd (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:20:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
no, there are other refernces for diologue, but we are talking about contemporary, and therefore relvant sources for inspiration. neglecting an extremely popluar pop-culture figure as tarantino for such a source is at the very least ignorance, and at the worst - where you clearly are - pseudo-academic holier than thou snootiness. tarantino is a sponge of pop-culture and to ignore him is to ignore 50 years of film. you are an intellctual without an actual intellect. stop listening to your lecturers and formulate your own thoughts.
i look forward to chatting to you in five years.
Submitted by JDL (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:11:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
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Submitted by iddqd (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:03:40 (#)
Ranking: 0
im talking about grammar. it needs to be spaced a bit to give the words and the content itself a bit more weight. these are things you need to fuck around with and most importantly - think about when youre writing things.
***Says the man who still wonders 'what exactly is a capital letter'?
maybe its best not to think. thats where im stuck. however, always think about what you can do better. watch some tarantino films for dialogue - he's mostly a hack, but sometimes hes a fuckin genius - those are the moments you hope for: wacth true romance (rewritten almost totally, but...) - the scene when dennis hopper does the whole "you are part eggplant" soliliquy is the most perfect piece of cinema or diologue ive ever seen.
***That's great--yeah, go to Tarrantino for dialougue, don't bother with Shaw or anything, yeah that's it--the movies--that's where you can really learn how to write.
anyway, you clearly have ability, all i can say is keep churning. in 10 or 15 years you might get the right thing out...
***This is like paying a retarded kid to tell you you're really great at being 'tall'.
iddqd, I like you, but shut the fuck up.
Submitted by iddqd (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:09:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
and jdl, i know as much as any creative writing lecturer or tutor ive had, which has been a few.
what i know is: its good to be feeling creative. you can do no wrong. when you arent, keep writing and keep the muscle active.
im better, smarter and just all around less mediocre than you. shut your paltry little mouth before it gets embarrassed.
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:07:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
And seriously? I come across like I could be a chick? Fuck. """
No...the user named just sounded girlish, in my franco opinion. then again, the way we put gender on everything is completly illogical so don't question your sexual identity over this.
Submitted by iddqd (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:03:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
im talking about grammar. it needs to be spaced a bit to give the words and the content itself a bit more weight. these are things you need to fuck around with and most importantly - think about when youre writing things.
maybe its best not to think. thats where im stuck. however, always think about what you can do better. watch some tarantino films for dialogue - he's mostly a hack, but sometimes hes a fuckin genius - those are the moments you hope for: wacth true romance (rewritten almost totally, but...) - the scene when dennis hopper does the whole "you are part eggplant" soliliquy is the most perfect piece of cinema or diologue ive ever seen.
anyway, you clearly have ability, all i can say is keep churning. in 10 or 15 years you might get the right thing out...
Submitted by JDL (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:01:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
iddqd could use a solid raping by a qualified creative lit instructor.
Maybe that way he would be able to come up with an original idea.
There's some great cocksucking action on this page, if you're a faggot.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-12 12:01:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:52:43 (#)
Ranking: 2
toadies, gawkers, leered...speak english, bitch! or he-bitch?
are you a chick or a dude? i have no idea.
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toadies: yes men
gawkers: someone who gawks, like follows a spectacle around and doesn't contribute
leered: fucked if I can define this one properly, it's one of those words I can use in context but can't explain adequately. Look it up if you like.
And seriously? I come across like I could be a chick? Fuck.
I'm a guy.
Submitted by odin (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:55:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:52:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
toadies, gawkers, leered...speak english, bitch! or he-bitch?
are you a chick or a dude? i have no idea.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:51:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
You mean space it out a bit more, and make it more of a revelation, or what?
Submitted by iddqd (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:48:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
forget dudes like this jdl guy, he has no idea and is just trying to sound like he does by being different to the rest of the oblivious readers. he has a point, but is on the wrong post, this time.
your writing is good, but it needs tweaks. the introduction is excellent, and providse the right kind of dread for a prospedtive reader.
for the omniscient narrator you need to separate them more, grammatically, from the text. for example. when you write:
"I told her I'd do anything for her, and, unlike the usual empty meaning that the phrase has, I did. I killed for her, without knowing why. I left a trail of bodies in our wake. This was my function in her world, assassin."
it needs to be separated into something like:
I told her I'd do anything for her. Unlike the usual empty meaning that the phrase has, I did...
I killed for her, without (even) knowing why: I left a trail of bodies in (her) wake. This was my function in her world - assassin.
etcetera.
Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:43:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Maybe the worng word. I know what I meant, but it's hard to articulate it. Sorry. Shit, I really ought to be doing some work.
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:41:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by orph (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:38:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked the imagery throughout - baa
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:35:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks. Glossy?
Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:34:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
2+ because I enjoyed the story, I think it was a little too glossy though.
But what the fuck do I know?!?!
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:28:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Which parts did you feel were too sentimental, or was it the entire piece that was too schmaltzy for you?
Submitted by DrogoRoch (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:27:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Baaaaaah
Sentimental it may be; but still better written than most of the shit here, and I liked it.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:25:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Damn, that was quick.
I'VE GOT DEADLINES TO MAKE, I'M VERY IMPORTANT.
Nah, fair enough. I guess sentimental was all I had.
Submitted by JDL (user info) at 2007-02-12 11:22:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Sentimental. Which is boring.
I'm sure this will get praise from the Ubersheep.
I prefer it when you actually use your creativity.